The Seduction of Neville Longbottom
by LupinMyOneAndOnly
Summary: Instead of returning to Hogwarts, Neville is now 12 Grimmauld Place's resident herbologist as well as a full member of the Order. But he's still the most unlikely person to attract the Order's new Potions brewer. PostHBP. Rewrite April 2007.
1. I 12 Grimmauld Place

I'm doing a rewrite, so I'm deleting all of my old chapters. I was thinking about where I was going in the story (I know there have been no updates since EVER, sorry) and I realized there were so many things I wanted to include from the beginning. So I am starting over.

Also, grammar errors probably exist. I have no beta.

I'm personally hoping Snape is good, but for the purpose of this story, he's a bad bad man.

However, thanks to the people who reviewed before! I love you: GargoyleSama, mooneasterbunny, HeLl HaVe No FuRy LiKe A wOmAn, Mammypooh Teh S3x, Spinereader, medieval woman2, Airlady, and kaededainecalwyn.

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The Seduction of Neville Longbottom

I. Recruitment

September first had come and gone, but Neville was not at Hogwarts.

Ever since he had received his Hogwarts letter, he had dreamed about this last year. Most importantly, it had meant that he _wasn't_ a Squib after all, that the Sorting Hat hadn't made some fatal mistake by placing him in Gryffindor, and that he hadn't flunked out of his classes. Seventh year was supposed to be a vague, pleasant blur of red and gold. Neville had tried not to think of NEWTs at all, though he supposed they would be in there somewhere, too.

But, instead of the familiar sounds of the common room, he was surrounded by the muted but unsettling din of an out-of-control greenhouse. Well-cared-for plants never made that kind of noise, after all. The glass panes rose majestically over the expensive, marble-tiled workroom, but any light was obscured by a thick layer of dirt- as was the floor, coincidentally. Professor Sprout would have had a coronary.

"Just what exactly did you want me to do?" Neville said weakly. A few inches from his left trainer, an infant devil's snare snaked a few immature tendrils around a feebly-struggling bulb. The devil's snare itself was growing wild in what appeared to be tropical red ginger, and the devil's snare must have budded from a larger, parent plant that was suspiciously nowhere to be seen.

Harry used his shirtsleeve to wipe a section of glass clear of grime, before shooting a sheepish glance at Neville from the corner of his eyes. "Er … fix it?" he replied, a hopeful tone in his voice.

"Er, Harry. How long has this place been abandoned?"

Harry paused, thinking. "Since before Sirius was born. His parents weren't much for potions, he said, and their house elf was barmy … so, fifty years?" Harry chuckled as Neville groaned aloud as he surveyed the massive amount of damage. It was awful. It was beautiful. And it was _his_. Neville had never felt so possessive- even greedy- over anything in his life.

"Can I get first-years to have their detentions here? Or any year, even. I'm going to need an _army _to get this place in shape."

Neville had been joking, but Harry turned to look at him, an alarmingly serious expression on his thin, weary face. "How many would you need?"

"Huh?" Neville was taken aback. "Harry, I just-"

"I'm going to be honest, Neville, we really need this. You're the best bet we have to get a secure supply of ingredients. The war is going to get a lot worse, and soon, and the Order is going to need trustworthy potions. We can't keep using Hogwart's greenhouses."

Neville nodded, his eyes still drinking in the mess that was his greenhouse. "Too many students have access to them. And Snape-"

"Him,"Harry replied, his voice a low growl. "We've an even bigger need because of that traitor. Tonks tested some of the potions he left behind, and every so often she found a contaminated bottle. We had to throw the lot away, and start fresh." A brief pause, and then an awkward hand landed on his shoulder. "Neville, please. The Order needs you."

The bulb was putting up a valiant struggle. Neville crouched and plucked it from the devil's snare. The bulb was well-formed, he saw, and would do well once transplanted away from grasping vines. The devil's snare could easily be nurtured to full size, provided that they could remove its roots intact.

"Neville?"

Neville stood, dusting his hands off on his trousers. "At least three," he told Harry.

"Three?" Harry repeated, confused.

His mind was already racing with the possibilities of organizing _his own_ greenhouse. "Helpers to clear this place. We'll divide it into four sections. One for standard potions ingredients, one for dangerous plants, and one for things like this devil's snare. The last is backup space, in case of an emergency." Seeing Harry's relief, Neville smiled. "Did you think I would say 'no' to you, Harry?" As proof, Neville worked his hand into his pocket, and pulled out his DA galleon coin.

Harry's grin lit up his entire face. He extended a hand, and Neville shook it.

That evening, amid many of his own friends as well as those of his parents, Neville Longbottom joined the Order of the Phoenix.

-----

After two long weeks which involved very little sleep, the section of the greenhouse that housed "normal" magical plants was operational. Between the volunteer work of the Hogwarts "dropouts," as well as any Weasley who happened to be around, the greenhouse was now sparkling clean. As for the final section, the Weasley twins were still attempting to create some sort of containment net that would restrain the two-storey high devil's snare that lurked in the darkened west corner. Their prototypes had not been successful on the devil's snare, but the culls of their experiments were often sprung on unsuspecting Order members.

Molly (as he was supposed to call her, though he was too afraid) was particularly unimpressed with the Nastily Netty Nabbers. However, despite the fact that the nets stuck to everything and had to be scraped off of walls with a trowel, she had to admit that the twins had invented something useful. Mad-Eye Moody ("Stop calling me Professor, Longbottom") had ordered everyone to carry one around at all times, even while in Headquarters.

Neville had been surprised at the variety of dangerous plants that the Blacks had maintained, but as both Harry and Gran had reminded him, the Blacks had been Dangerous People. And from what he'd seen of the house, Neville had to agree. He, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and occasionally Professor Lupin had spent the greater part of their weekend looking up counter-curses for the more obscure traps left in the guest rooms. Thanks to their efforts, Neville was now ensconced in a small bedroom, with a closet that no longer tried to lure him into its clutches.

His room was far from isolated, as more and more Order members decided to move into the relative safety of Grimmauld Place. The Weasleys evenly divided their time between the Burrow and Headquarters, and, to the amusement of all the witnesses, Tonks had loudly abandoned her posh studio apartment in favor of Lupin's bed. Harry and Ron shared a room a few doors down, though Hermione had simply set up a cot in the Black library. While he was used to being the proverbial third-wheel, Neville missed the camaraderie of the Gryffindor dormitory. But, as Neville often reminded himself, he was among friends, and useful, and so he didn't really mind being a little lonely.

-----

By mid-October, the Order was desperate for a full-time Potions brewer.

It wasn't as if they weren't doing fairly well on their own. Neville himself had stayed clear of the cauldrons, but between Hermione and Tonks, the Headquarter's stock of healing potions had been largely restored.

"Except for wolfsbane," Hermione had moaned over breakfast, her chin propped dejectedly in her hand. "Something different just goes wrong, every time." Hermione visibly wilted. "We can do the standard potions, but the wolfsbane requires the kind of delicacy that comes from practice."

Entering the kitchen wearing only Remus's shirt, Tonks plopped down on one of the creakier wooden chairs. "I got a bloody Outstanding on my NEWTs, and I still can't stir the thing right. If the silver rod touches the sediment on the bottom of the cauldron even once, the whole thing loses all potency."

Everyone except Hermione and Lupin were now intently studying their plain, beige oatmeal. "Nymphadora," Lupin began, with a discreet little cough. "As fetching as you look in my shirt, perhaps it would be best to wear more clothes."

"I've got knickers on!" Tonks protested. Neville, who was taking a bite of his porridge, began to choke.

Ron had turned an astonishing shade of purple, while Harry sunk lower into his seat, muttering something about "bras" and "silencing charms."

"Oh, Tonks, stop showing off," Hermione said, grinning at the antics of the three teenage boys sitting next to her. "We all know he's yours now. I think you're hurting Harry and Neville and Ron. They're _impressionable_," she added loftily.

"'S not fair," Ron bellowed, knocking his bowl to the floor in the process. "You're a girl, and Tonks is a girl. I bet you wouldn't take it so well if one of us ran around the house with our naughty bits flying about." Harry sprayed milk across the table, onto Lupin.

There was a long, empty silence as Ron's brain began to register what his mouth had said, and as Hermione began to silently mouth angry words. Neville considered ducking under the table, preparing to _protego _any projectile that might come flying his way.

"You!" she finally spluttered. "I'm going to get ready. If you aren't ready in half an hour, I'll- I'll-" she fumbled, at a loss for words.

"You'll hex Ron's naughty bits off?" Harry wheezed, before succumbing to laughter. Tonks howled and fell of her chair, displaying bright orange knickers that clashed frightfully with her pink hair. Hermione spun away in a huff just as Neville and Lupin finally lost it.

Ron's frightened "Do you think she'd really- my bits-" only set them off again.

Much, much later, Tonks wiped her eyes free of any mirthful tears and stood. "Well, I'd better go get dressed. Those records aren't going to read themselves."

"Records?" Neville asked, also standing, gathering the dirty dishes.

"Harry asked old Scrimgeor very nicely if he could look at the Ministry's records of sold and confiscated heirlooms," Tonks replied, scourgifying Ron's spilt oatmeal. "I have three-day permits for myself, Harry, Hermione, and Ron to look into the archives." She sighed. "Three days, and fifty years of stodgy purebloods' rubbish. And they won't even tell me what they want with the junk, either." With a swirl of faded cotton, she turned to leave the kitchen, stubbing her toe once on the doorframe.

"Oh." Neville felt just a bit left out.

Lupin saw his look, and took pity on him. "We're going to be interviewing some possible recruits for the Order's new potions maker. Would you like to come?"

Uncomfortably, Neville shrugged. "I suppose. If I won't be in the way," he added.

"You won't be," Lupin told him kindly. "In fact, it would be a help. We need at least three Order members to witness, and as far as I know, only Minerva and I are going to be there. If you don't want to, I can always snag one of the Weasley twins," he offered.

"No, I'll come." Neville said, feeling proud to be included as a full Order member. "Professor Lupin?"

"Remus."

"Er, Remus, I wasn't interviewed when I joined."

Lupin smiled a bit at that. "Neville, that was different. We knew you. This time, we have a few people- acquaintances, really- who have some skill in potions. Also, we're trying to be more careful. Neville," he told him, gravely, "it might be uncomfortable to witness. Minerva is going to use Veritaserum, and possibly the Sorting Hat. If for any reason something goes wrong, you need to be ready to stun them."

Neville swallowed. "I'll come," he repeated.

---

A/N: I really didn't mean to write the breakfast conversation. It just came out. My inner Hermione was, of course, outraged, while my inner Ron paraded around naked.


	2. II Welcome to the Order

The new chapter 2 is here. I especially wanted to include Moran's interview. I was going to simply allude to it later, but I really wanted to write it. There isn't much excitement (ie sex), and what started out as a fun chapter sort of became a chore. I'm really more interested in writing the trio's reaction to Moran (especially Ron, who really has a gift for saying the wrong things), and Neville becoming increasingly scared of her.

medievalwoman2: Sexy!Neville will be back.  But, of course, he will be briefly replaced by Nervous!Neville, Selfconscious!Neville (and his twin LowSelfEsteem!Neville), and Angsty!Neville before he can even get to the delicious Sexgod!Neville stage.

-----

II. Recruitment

Lupin and Neville flooed directly to Professor McGonagall's office. Neville was surprised to find out that the interviews would be taking place in the Room of Requirement rather than the Headmistresses' office.

The room was small and bare, and, like the DA's practice room, was filled to the brim with dark object detectors and foe glasses. An uncomfortable-looking chair was placed in the center of the room. Next to it, the Sorting Hat dozed on a small, conjured pedestal.

"I know it looks quite awful," Professor McGonagall told the two, "but it is necessary." She gave an embarrassed little cough before turning to Lupin and Neville. "I assume you both can construe why Professor Slughorn has not been invited to join the Order, and why he will _never_ be introduced to the Come-and-Go room?"

Lupin let out a soft snort, and Neville again reminded himself that his genteel former Professor had once been a Marauder, as Harry had told him.

A hesitant tap sounded at the door. "Come in," Professor McGonagall called, once again severe. At Professor McGonagall's silent request Remus and Neville took up positions against the wall behind the seat, their wands ready at their sides.

A small, graying woman entered, clutching a sagging handbag and a flat stack of parchment. "Minerva?"

The formidable Headmistress inclined her head politely. "Agatha, thank you for coming. Please be seated for your interview."

Agatha perched herself nervously on the chair. "Ms. Jones said you were interested in a potions assistant?" she began timidly. At McGonagall's nod, she continued. "I am an adequate brewer, with six post-graduate years of study with Master Barnett in Plymoth. I have references," she added, extending the parchment to Minerva.

"Agatha," Professor McGonagall continued, in a kind voice. "If you would roll up your sleeves above your forearms."

The parchment trembled slightly. "Why?" At her hesitation, both Neville and Lupin grasped their wands a bit more firmly.

"I'm afraid we need to check if you have been marked by Voldemort," McGonagall said firmly. Neville was impressed that she hadn't stumbled over the dreaded name.

"V-v- You- know- who?" Agatha gasped, her frail shoulders shaking violently. "I- I would never. I live two houses away from where Amelia- Amelia Bones- and I saw what they did to her. I wouldn't!" Her voice had risen to a thin shriek.

Professor McGonagall's shoulders had slumped slightly. "I'm so sorry, Agatha."

"S- sorry?"

McGonagall suddenly pointed to one of the foe glasses. "Oh, my! Look at that!" she exclaimed, in what appeared to be a genuinely surprised voice. Not only Agatha, but Lupin and Neville were also startled into glancing at the empty foe glass, and they only turned back in time to see Agatha's handbag fall to the floor as the Headmistress softly spoke, "Obliviate."

---

The second interviewee was a middle-aged man with a ready smile and a dubious resume as thick as _Hogwarts, A History. _Neville was vaguely reminded of Lockhart as Jim Reeds heartily shook the Headmistress' hand. The irritated purse of her lips, with which Neville was well acquainted (as was Lupin, who had looked vaguely sheepish before apparently remembering that _he_ was not going to be assigned detention), was blithely ignored by Jim, who had seated himself confidently without a second glance at his two amused armed guards.

This time, there were no first names. "Mr. Reeds." The man's smile faltered; he was young enough to have been taught by Professor McGonagall. "I will be placing the Sorting Hat on your head."

"What?"

"We are hoping to determine whether or not you are a trustworthy candidate for-" McGonagall began, before the Sorting Hat opened its mouth and began bellowing in a manner that would have made Mrs. Black's portrait proud.

"Traitor! How dare you walk into my school? HE TOLD THE DEATHEATER LESTRANGE ABOUT THIS INTERVIEW! I ought to sort you into Azkaban!" the hat said, after adding a few choice expletives. "Oh," the hat continued, much more softly, "and more than half of his resume is fake."

Both Lupin and Neville had sent twin stunners into the man's back after the Sorting Hat's first word. Once he had been trussed up, Obliviated, and rolled into the corner, McGonagall flooed Kingsley at the Auror's office. A few hints, and Veritaserum would be utilized by his interrogators. Kingsley assured the trio that Scrimgeor was paranoid enough, and desperate enough to have caught a legitimate Death Eater, to use the potion on anyone who possibly could have become allied with the enemy.

---

The third interviewee did not show up. A week later, the Daily Prophet announced that a Ms. Amanda Pierce of Devonshire, age 34, was apprehended at a muggle park. Her wand showed the recent use of an Unforgivable, and her forearm bore the tell-tale black skull and snake.

---

By the fourth interview, Neville was actually becoming confident that his presence was necessary, and that he was a real Order member. He was secretly satisfied by the fact that his stunner had hit Jim Reeds at the same time Lupin's had. He was therefore standing tall and proud when McGonagall invited the next interviewee into the Room of Requirement, a very young woman with short dark curls swinging around her face. Neville thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"Miss Moran," Lupin greeted her. "I don't believe I've seen you since your sixth year in Defense."

"Professor." Lupin was briefly taken aback by her cool tone, but he gracefully regained his poise. "I'm afraid I dropped out of Defense," she continued. "The only reason I even passed my OWLs was because the examiners felt sorry for poor, maimed Lockhart's students." Both McGonagall and Neville smiled involuntarily at her sarcasm, but as the Headmistress was standing behind her, only Neville was pierced with a scathing glare.

His newfound confidence immediately withered.

McGonagall cleared her throat before glancing over the proffered resume. "Miss Moran. You have little experience in your field. Why should we consider you for the position of assistant?"

Miss Moran's chin was raised an inch. "I studied for three years under Mr. John Langwood in his shop. In that time, he supervised my production of many difficult potions. While I do not have theoretical training, I have practical experience, and my potions were more than adequate for sale to the public."

McGonagall's face was unreadable. "John Langwood was not a Potions Master."

"He could have been," she replied coldly. "But he chose to run his family's shop instead. His publications were well-received, as I understand it, whether or not he had his mastery."

McGonagall was already tired from the morning of failed interviews. "Miss Moran, _please put on the Sorting Hat_," she snapped irritably.

The cloth settled easily over her head. There was a long pause before the hat's folds opened to speak. "She won't betray you. But if this war lasts longer than a year, you'll need more than a half-trained apprentice to stock your shelves."

Miss Moran's jaw dropped in outrage. "Why, you disgusting moth-eaten castoff, I ought to-"

"And she's a stone-cold bitch to boot." Her hand was raised to rip the hat off of her head when it added, "_He_ tried to recruit her, too."

McGonagall's head snapped to the side. "What?" To Miss Moran, she drew her wand in an impressively swift motion. "Don't you _dare_ take off that hat." With McGonagall's wand trained steadily on her, Miss Moran's slowly lowered her hands from her head.

The hat continued grimly. "Snape." McGonagall hissed, much like a cat, at the mention of her former colleague. "He offered her an apprenticeship after-"

"After they killed my master," she snarled, interrupting the hat. "He used the killing curse on John, stole from our shop, and then had the _audacity_ to-"

"Proposition you?" the hat said, slyly.

"That is not what happened!"

If the hat had shoulders, it would have shrugged. "That's what it looked like to me."

"I'd kill him first," she said, with absolute conviction.

"Get in line," Neville muttered, and then flushed as everyone turned to look at him. Miss Moran, especially, seemed to be sizing him up. "Sorry." But Neville could tell, by the sudden tenseness in both his former Professors as well as the downright bloodthirsty look in Miss Moran's eyes that everyone in the room had approved of that statement.

Lupin sighed. "Hat, do we have to stun her or not?"

"Don't stun her," the hat replied, grumpily. "And my name is not Hat."

McGonagall ignored the last comment. "I'm afraid the original job offer was only a front. There is no assistant's position available at Hogwarts at the moment."

The hat was removed and unceremoniously thrown to the floor. Neville stooped quietly and placed it back on its pedestal; he still felt like he owed the hat, since it had put him in Gryffindor. "If there's no job," Miss Moran hissed through gritted teeth, "then what the _hell_ did I just interview for?"

"Miss Moran, we would like you to join the Order of the Phoenix."

---


End file.
